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LONG    LANCE

pers.    'What can it mean?    What has been going
on while we were sleeping?5

'Hoh! It is White Dog—our medicine-man!'
said my father, jerking himself to his feet and
standing for a moment with his ear turned atten-
tively towards the teepee door,

Then he swirled his blanket about his body and
dashed out of the teepee and disappeared in the
darkness,

We heard the soft patter of moccasined feet
dashing hither and yon through the camps and we
knew that something tragic was on,

We sat silently for about ten minutes—nobody
spoke. Then my father pulled back the teepee
flap, stooped and entered, and pulled himself up
gravely and folded his arms across his chest. We
could see that he was under emotion; that his
'feeling5 was expanding within himself, and that
his outward calm was controlled only by the
stoicism of our race.

My mother threw a splinter of wood on the
embers and said:

"Tsanutapt?    Tsanistapi?   (What?    What?)'

Without taking his eyes off the coals, my father
said, in a voice that I had never heard before:

White Dog is dead/

My mother opened her mouth wide and
clapped her hand over it, in the Indian gesture of
horror.

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